The Ecstasy of Gold
by Arthur Eisner
Summary: First person smartass meets black humor, strange twist, society parody and unnessesary violence in a story that breaks the most copyrights ever.


Disclaimer: Characters and series and trademarks and copyrights are property of their rightful owners.

Author's warnings: At the beginning you think it won't be there right. Right? Well guess what, it's there - violence and gore. Not that bad though, well maybe.

Author's notes: How to describe it... hmm... It's actually my first story (I wrote it before the other two) that I edited a little and posted. So it will seem a little out of style. Anyway I think the summary describes it the best. Two shot probably. So why should you read it? There's everything, named after song, lame jokes, Faye's relation with Spike, CHRISTMAS, Ein, Jet, Alcohol, gramatical errors and a strange twist. And of course it wouldn't be complete without a half-assed ending. Oh and if you tend to listen to songs when reading get yourself an 'Ecstasy of gold the bandini remix' for some of that crowning music of awesome.

And merry Christmas and a happy new year to everyone!

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One:

**Erecta my hamburger, baby**

* * *

And the crabs march and destroy everything that stands in their way, roads, buildings, cars and people. They clip off heads of males and females they capture and change into their spawning machines. That's how they reproduce. With their numbers and strength and indifferent shellfish attitude, humanity lays in ashes. Well, again. No Mars. No Ganymede. No colonies. No Earth. Just crabs, everywhere. And I observe the sight and inhale the smell of the salt and sea and cooking oil. And I grip the crab opener tool tightly in my hand and say: _Hell, it's about time_.

I open my eyes.

The fan is spinning through the constant, maddening light. It takes a few breaths for me to realize that I'm awake. I inhale with my nose still trapped by the vagueness of the dream. The smell isn't sea, it's cigarettes and gasoline and dog and cheap perfume and blood. Blood cause my nose's broken, it's a miracle I smell anything at all. How did I, the master of Jeet Kun Do, break my nose? I'd rather not get into that. I smack my mouth, rub my eyes with numb hands and yawn greatly. The feeling is a cat died inside my mouth. I pull my arms way up and stretch.

And I smile, "What a dream."

I close my eyes again and shift my body to one side. Just as I manage to bring up the imagine of crabs somewhere in the distance and my mouth starts to drool, someone calls for me. Not my name. It's one of my nicknames, this time it's afro-man. Is it just me, or nobody uses my name anymore?

Anyway, I pretend I'm asleep. It speaks to me again now calling me by my name. After I ignore it again it shouts. I cover my ears, wishing it will just go away. But instead I feel dull pain in my side, a kick.

"If it wasn't you Faye," I say, still buried in the couch. "You'd be dead by now."

Really, I'm a pure instinct man and my gun finger twitched when she kicked into me.

"If it wasn't me or anyone that residents this ship, chances are _you'd_ be dead by now Spike," Faye counters my remark.

She's right, I made just about enough enemies to be wary when and where I go take a leak, well nevermind.

Suddenly a thought flashes in my head. In my mind I imagine a scene, Faye holding her gun to my knee, screaming for me to wake up and then she shoots and the bullet goes through the meat and bone, my blood spraying all around. And when I shout at her why she did it, she just tells me to not be such a baby - I reconsider. I'd better get up.

Yawning I pull myself upright in two stages. I try to sit up straight, but I can't, so I just slowly pull myself up. I grunt heavily like if I was lifting something that weights a ton.

"Jeez, you sound like an old man," Faye crosses her arms.

Heh. I smile, "Funny coming from someone who's more outdated than my grandma Sherry."

I can hear Faye gritting her teeth, it's that bad. I touched a sore spot. Her eyebrows knit together as if they were supposed to touch. She's like a bundle of C4 ready to burst, waiting for the fuse to give the signal. Last time I managed to trip her this much was the day before yesterday, I told her she's pretty dumb for someone who's like one hundred years old.

I scratch the brace on my nose.

Lesson learned in that, never question a woman's age. Or weight. Or her dress. Or... just don't close your eyes when insulting someone.

"So what do you want?" I crack my neck. "I thought I told you to wake me up only in case a one billion bounty appears."

Faye's expression stays the same, like if she drank a gallon of vinegar, "I really hate when you do that."

I smile, "What? Make indiscreet remarks about your actual age or unreal excuses so you would just let me sleep?"

"No," Faye says. "That cracking your joints thing. It's sickening and annoys the hell out of me."

I crack my knuckles, "Well you better get used to it then Princess, hence I am a very rusty man."

Faye and her likes and dislikes. I don't know about the former, maybe betting her sorry ass out on just about everything, but concerning the latter... Let's just say there's not a day that she won't find something she doesn't like about me, about my habits and everyday rituals. According to her, there's exactly thirty-two things I do wrong when I brush my teeth. The first of those is that I'm in her field of sight. I think she just wanted to piss me off by neverending barrage of nagging, but she slipped in doing so. Since then I just do the things that irritate her. And she's just... it's better than TV I tell you.

Now that my eyes focused enough for me to fully see I notice she bought some new dress. It's too fashionable for that whore style of hers, but we should give her the credit for breaking the stereotype. It looks like a towel though.

But enough of that, "Is that all? Was that the thing you woke me up for Faye? So you would nag me back to sleep?"

Faye shakes her head, she's disgusted now, "How do you manage to sleep twelve hours like that anyway?"

I yawn and spread my arms on each side of the couch. Here we go again.

"Even a sloth makes more movement than you, I mean I've never seen anyone as lazy as you my entire life Spike and-"

"The point, Faye, stick to the point," I yawn again. "Remember what I told you about the unnecessary conversation between us."

And that look is back again, the wrinkled kind, as if she swallowed a razor, "You're a real bastard Spike."

I nod my head in agreement, "And you love me so much for that."

Faye smirks, "Dream on, I'd never fall for the likes of you. Besides, me drooling over you? I never was into fantasy."

I hang my head and drop it, closing my eyes, then I pretend to snore but I shoot up fast finishing my act, "Look Faye I'm falling asleep again. So get to the _point_."

"All right, all right, how did you ever survive so long is beyond me, all you do is drink, smoke, sleep and swallow bullets like there's no tomorrow," Faye says and then finally gets to the point. "Remember how Jet freaked when he saw you ditching your leftovers into the couch and caught me using his bonsai instead of an ashtray?"

How would I ever forget?

I look at the ceiling, looking at nothing in particular and scratch my throat, "I guess, what about it?"

Faye looks where I look, when she doesn't find anything she shakes her head, "Well today he, as he put it, 'proclaimed a martial law'."

"Martial law, huh?" I laugh. "I can see where this is going."

There's not much in my wallet, just enough for emergencies. I slap at my pockets. There's some change, but all in all I don't have anything of any worth on me, expect for my gun of course. But I keep that in the fridge, so it would be as cold as a devil's heart. So the 'cold as gun' saying would get a little meaning to it. So I would be more cool. That and the muzzle keeps bending a little to the left when I carry it under my clothes for too long.

Faye sits on the edge of the table and puts one leg over the other.

"So did he lock himself up?" I ask, already familiar with the drill.

Faye nods, "Yup, he took in his little trees and won't open the door no matter what. Not even when I was pretending there was an intruder on the ship and I was taken as a hostage."

"Maybe he didn't care Faye, maybe he just wished you dead," I play my voice as creepy as I can. "Left you there to die."

She just stares daggers at me.

"Or at least I would," I say closing my eyes.

"But we were in that kind situation before Spike, and if I remember correctly you shot the guy that was holding me hostage, so no matter how hard you try to hide it, you have a heart." She smiles back at me, smile that says got you where it hurts.

"I'm no Robin Hood Faye, I aimed at you not at the guy," I tell her calmly. "Did I tell you how my gun keeps twisting a little to the left?"

And we finally get to the trip point, "YOU!"

She jumps up and just before her hands reach my neck, I pull my hands up above my head and surrender, laughing, "All right, all right, I'm just toying with you Faye. Maybe I really just shot the guy who held gun to your head."

Faye calms down and sits back on the table, "Can't see how that makes you more of a hero."

"And that's exactly what I'm not, people just mistake me for someone with Samaritan Syndrome, but I just do the things I think are right." I use my cool mysterious kind of voice for this line.

"Like killing people?" she shakes her head at me. "Real saint Spike, real saint."

"No, no, no, you're getting ahead of me again I just do the things that I think are right, for me."

I don't like where this conversation's going. Too much past included.

"Let's get back to the point Faye," I shake it off and search my pockets for my pack of cigs. "This 'martial law', what's the cash? Anything else about it?"

Faye takes out her own pack of cigarettes and I can see it's full, is she trying to stop smoking or something? She pulls out one and puts it to her lips. She rummages through her clothes for a while, then curses. I dig into my pocket and toss her my lighter. She lights up and feels the lighter with her fingers. There's a thin serpent-like dragon zigzagging round the cover of it.

She flips it a few times, then pulls a drag and puffing out fresh smoke throws it back to me, "Where'd you get this?"

I catch it and pocket it, "You don't want to know."

"Oh-kay, so back to Jet..." she pauses recalling. "When I passed his door this morning there was this thing posted."

She gives me a small yellow paper, it's a stick note and it's obvious why they named the company that way. It freaking sticks to my fingers.

I scan it and read a few quick lines.

I look at Faye, "You are kidding me."

She shrugs, twirling her finger just above her temple, "You know how Jet is sometimes."

I read out loud, "There's no food in the fridge, Ed's unconscious because she thought that only Spike person can sleepy-sleep, the dog needs a walk and Faye lost last of our food money in a poker match. Oh, and I won't go out until we cooperate. - Jet."

I crumble the stick note and throw it at Faye, "Told you those new casinos have triple cheating protection."

"I was just testing the new grounds," she catches the paper and throws it in a bin as a sing of agreement to Jet's 'cooperation'. "So, what do we do now?"

"What we have left," I say standing up.

"You're going to get drunk and into some bar fight again, aren't you?" Faye asks, sating the fact.

"I never fight in bars Faye," I finally find my crumpled pack in my back pocket and take it out. "I get pissed and fall over, but yeah I'm planning to get stoned tonight."

I open the pack and there's only three cigarettes left, I take one out and light up.

I drag in a draft of smoke and blew it straight into her face, "Wanna come? Special treat today, the first three drinks are on me."

Faye shakes her head at me, no, "Knowing your limit I think I'll have to pass, thanks for the offer though."

"All right."

I'll have to take the dog then.

I put my hands in my pockets and slowly walk to the fridge, I take my gun from inside and go out of the room, but I just can't let it slide that easily no. Quickly I jam my brain for some funny sarcastic remark and I stop going through the portal door and look at her once again.

"By the way, nice bathrobe Faye," and I go through the door.

"What!? Bathrobe!? This is the most expensive- hey, come back here!"

I just wave at her over my shoulder and embark on my epic drinking journey.

So here I am, awake and ready to dive into another ugly day. It's already dark, so more like late afternoon. I walk the dark streets with one hand holding my cigarette and one holding the leash. Yeah I took the dog out with me, but not because I wanted to walk him. It's because he always knows the way back, priceless when you're dead drunk.

There was no bounty for over some good five weeks. Not like I care that much, my savings can keep me alive for months if I draw in for a while, but with so much free time life becomes a neverending wheel of boredom and even the smallest event becomes a total salvation. Like today.

I either sleep or drown out everything. Talking about my drinking habits, lately there's not a day that I'm not drunk, Jet told me to get diagnosed but we all know what the diagnosis would say - alcoholic. I don't need to pay a doctor to tell me something that I already know. Sometimes even Faye gets preachy and tells me to forget about Julia to just leave the past in the past. I answer her that I can easily forget just about everything... when I'm dead drunk.

The streets are wet, there's a hole in my shoe and my now toes are just as wet. It's unusually cold. It is December though, so the idiots at the weather control just have to drop the temperature below the tolerable level. They like to say that it feels like earth. Nobody gives rat's ass about earth anymore, so why bother. So it's cold, but there's no snow, because they don't like snow, snow is too hard and expensive to make so we're left with two choices. If you want snow you can either go to Calisto or Neptune or Pluto or wait for the midnight of December the 24th. The only day when they make snow.

I walk and Ein stops me from time to time to sniff at something in the grass or to mark a corner. I finish my smoke and decide it's time to replenish my supply. I know a good place not too far from here, they have my favorite brand there and give me a nice patron discount.

By the way did I tell you about my smoking habits? Let's just say, I really _need_ to replenish my supply, it's one of the three things that help me get away from the past - sleep, booze and smokes.

Sometimes I smoke three packs a day, but that's only on the good days.

Faye bought me that big damn book of records for my birthday, it turned out I didn't break the record, but I was too close.

There's a puddle of vomit on the ground and Ein sniffs it, I pull him back and walk around it. I just hope that tomorrow I won't wake up in my own puke like last time I passed out.

Just as I wonder if I have enough cash for both the smokes and alcohol today, turning around a corner a young girl crashes into me. She leans on for a second then gets away from me saying, "Excuse me."

I don't tell her that I saw it all. I don't tell her anything, I just watch her disappear into the night and then continue my own way. She's probably going to be disappointed with her loot, my wallet was pretty dry the last time I checked. She was too slow though, her moves sluggish and uncertain, an amateur, someone still in training. Spoiled kid with cut income used to expensive lifestyle maybe, maybe someone with nowhere to go. Lately streets are spawned with those and from those only thugs come out when they mature, but for me it's only the good news. Because the more thugs the more small fry bounties to collect.

And like karma would say, it's payback time.

I cross the street and merge with a crowd of people. The trick is to get into a bigger swarm, then it's like stealing candy from little kids. It doesn't take more than a half of minute and I already have three wallets to choose from. I pick the fattest, heaviest one and discard the rest into a charity box posted down the street. The fake Santa Claus standing beside it says, "Thank you very much, kind sir."

I turn around a corner and there's the shop I was looking for. The Holy Grail of my existence, well at least half of it. The Tobacconist, how ground breaking name. But they have fair prices and pleasant stock, and besides I'm not really crazy for flashy names.

I go in and the bell above the door announces my entry. A woman in her fifties eyes me with bored eyes, looking up from her crossword.

She looks at the dog, but doesn't ask further, "Hello Spike, haven't seen you in a while, how you been keeping?"

"I've been worse, Carllota," I say. "Of course, I've been better too."

Carllota nods.

I continue, "And I've been a hell of a lot better and not much worse."

Carllota looks back at her crossword, "That's good."

I smile, "Are you sure you haven't met the crazy German yet Carllota? I was here just yesterday, well I'm here almost everyday."

Carllota looks at me and says nothing, but her eyes would turn you to stone, "With you, I can't ever be sure it's not the last day you come here."

"Yeah, whatever," she has a talent to always easily irritate me. "Let's cut it short. You have the stuff, or not?"

Carllota thinks for a while, as if she ponders if she wants to tell me, "If you're talking about Marlboro's, then no, I haven't received them in a delivery today."

This day's just keeps getting better and better.

"But we have other cigarettes, don't you worry," she smiles, pointing her thumb at the collection behind her shoulder. "We have Camels, Lucky Strikes, Newports, Winstons, Sa-"

I stop her, "That's enough, you don't have them."

She shrugs, "Poison like poison, or is it not?"

"Got used to them, other brands don't sit right with the tar in my lungs and I cough," I pause. "A lot."

"Were you trying to quit smoking, like me?" she says and looks at the crossword, filling up a word cancer. "The stuff will kill you eventually."

"Smoking is the last thing I fear when it comes down to it. There are things that are much, much worse."

She doesn't look up, "Like?"

"Like bullets, swords, crazy kids, dogs that are more intelligent than you, animals in general, french clowns that can't be killed, too much angst and women that have tongue sharper than a razor-blade," I say. "The list is far from complete of course."

"Of course."

What a waste of time coming here.

"Well, thanks for nothing," I turn on my heel and head for the door.

"You sure you will survive through the day without any?" Carllota calls for me.

I stop, holding the door open, "Sure, I have two cigarettes left. And in a few minutes I'll be too drunk to lift a lighter anyway."

And I leave the store.

I don't take two steps and I already light myself my second smoke. Pure gold.

This is the third day that they don't have the brand. The first day I brushed it off and lived on my emergency supply. When I asked yesterday and she didn't have them, I panicked. I felt as if they stole something dear from me. Like a mother whose kid got kidnapped. So I looked at the side of the pack and phoned the company's help link. I didn't learn anything useful from them, and I was held on the line for three minutes listening to some muzak version of jingle bells. Rumor has it that Marlboro didn't improve it's cash flow and went bankrupt. Can really a trademark like that suddenly disappear? I thought these brands were untouchable, eternal, immortal. People from all over the universe won't stop smoking it at the same exact moment. And it's not just about smokes. Imagine a world without Coca-Cola, world without Wrigley, world without Jack Daniels, world without Nokia, Apple and the company that owns Jupiter – Facebook. And the list goes on.

It just proves that nothing in the world is eternal and everything you can ever create will turn into dust.

Expect for a thought, a legend. The unreal is more powerful than the real. Because nothing is as perfect as you can imagine it. Because it's only intangible ideas, concepts, beliefs, fantasies that last. Stone crumbles. Wood rots. People, well, they die. But things as fragile as a thought, a dream, a legend, they can go on and on.

It's a little sad though.

How everything you'll ever love will reject you or die. Everything you can create will be thrown away. Everything you're proud of will end up as trash.

And that's why I need to get drunk as a lord. Well, one of the reasons.

What I do is the last resort, believe me, I don't want to be an alcoholic. It's just the only choice that I'm left with. I considered suicide, but I don't have the guts to go that far. Drugs? Too expensive for someone like me. So I just continue to drink and wait until my liver turns into stone and finally gives away.

When I think about it now, it would be a pretty funny end. Today, Spike Spiegel, former member of Red Dragon syndicate, master of Jeet Kun Do, an infamous bounty hunter, someone who's getting shot at almost everyday, died from cirrhosis. Hah.

"Was an empty shell that turned to stone, huh?"

Guess what I do here is try and fill up the emptiness somehow. Somehow cradle that spark of enjoyment and fake happiness beverages can provide you with. There's nothing left inside of me, no revenge, no goal, no passion. And without passion you are already dead. In other words, there's nothing left that kept me going before. Metaphorically, I am an empty glass I try to fill up with something. Anything. Too bad the glass has a hole, and no matter how hard you try to fill it up, it always leaks out.

But enough about that subjective emotional crap.

Because emotion is bullshit. Love is bullshit. We live and we die and anything else is just delusion. It's just passive chick bullshit about feelings and sensitivity. There is no human soul. There is no God. There's just decisions and disease and death.

And Ein pulls me out of my suicidal thinking, he stops and sniffs at something on the pavement and I look up. A bright neon sing that's almost falling apart and few letters are missing. It says: __he __Sp_iled Princ_ss_.

Run down, but not that badly, looks exactly like my kinda place.

As I cross the street a car, appearing out of nowhere, parks blocking my way. It's a sports car something, I think I've seen it in a magazine somewhere, but lately my memories blur together thanks to my constant drinking. One thing is clear though, frat boys included.

The driver's door throws open and twenty year old kid dressed like he knows everything in the solar system gets out, goes around the car and opens the passenger door. Two very young girls that no doubt just hit eighteen, get out and follow him. He entangles his arms around them, holding each girl on one side and strides toward the bar. Kinda reminds me myself in the good old syndicate days. The girls give me a quick scanning look, then turn away disgusted. I smile, guess I should shave more regularly after all... stupid nose-brace.

"Get out of our way, you loser," the kid pushes past me and into the bar.

I wait for them to disappear and then study the car again. And then I get an idea and my smile breaks into a grin. I fumble around in my pockets searching for my keys for swordfish and make a fist around the keys so only the longest and sharpest juts out between my fingers. I look at the red polished hood and see my reflection floating across. I look like an angry demon. And without breaking my stride, I drag the steel point of the key across the polished face of the car. The sound is surprisingly quiet and I work quickly and carefully. After I'm done I nod to myself and I trail after them into the bar.

"We've just found our place for tonight, boy," I tell the mutt and enter with him following me.

The door swings close behind me and I'm immediately absorbed by the atmosphere of the place. First thing that hits me is the feeling, there's the typical stench of smoke and alcohol sure, but what gets to me more is how the bar radiates. The whole place is tinted red, the floor, the stools, the tables, but they didn't go overboard with it and it just kind of suits the bar. The tables are round and outlined with a typical set of bums on one hand and people in expensive suits on the other hand. And that's another thing I like about it, they aren't against variety. They serve the rich and they serve the poor. The bar itself is the biggest bar I have ever seen, they have to have just about any kind of booze there is. On one side of the bar is a stage, perhaps there are open comedy nights taking place... yeah right, I guess the strippers aren't here today. Or it's still too early for that.

So I inhale the feeling of the place for the last time and say, "Home is where the heart is."

I have to sniff up the proverbial tear of nostalgia, because this is just like the old good days. When I was younger, deadlier and the world laid tied and gagged under my mighty feet. I sigh, too bad now I'm just a crackpot bounty hunter nobody.

I sit down at the bar and tie Ein to the stool beside me.

The bartender notices me and lifts up a hand that she'll be with me in just a sec, she's too busy shaking up some nonsense drink to some old geezer two seats on my left. Oh well, so much for the service, I guess no tips then.

Suddenly there's that ugly 'you got mail' sound rushing from my pocket through all the noise. I look at my phone, it's Faye.

_It's not bathrobe, okay? It's the last model by Prada and I bought it for-_

And then the message goes into an ungodly long description of how she plans to outsmart another target of hers into giving her a loan for her betting. One thing I give her though, Faye doesn't discriminate someone for his looks. For Faye, men are just walking wallets. If she's not complaining about how males are stupid and stuff, she's busy getting their bank accounts clean and dry.

I quick text her back with one of my template messages: _I don't care._

I look at the bartender again, she's busy searching for those heart shaped straws someone ordered their drink with. She's not a bad look, but looking at her I know I won't even get over the small talk. She's the type that waterfalls with sarcasm and is too full of cynical questions. But I certainly wouldn't turn down some of that free bed adventure if Lady Luck would smile upon me today.

Just as I think this, she looks at me almost apologetically and finally moves in my direction.

I smile the best of my smiles, "Howdy, sweetheart."

"What'll it be cowboy?" the bartender smiles her trained usual customer-interaction smile.

I look over her shoulder, there's so much to choose from and so little space in my liver to filter it.

"As long as it's a double, you can surprise me," I say looking into her eyes, playing my act straight.

No doubt she'll choose the most expensive drink they have, but today I don't exactly pay with my money so it's okay.

Suddenly Ein gets one of his bwarfing fits and jumps up at the stool beside me, then sits and puts one of his paws on the bar as if he was a regular.

The barkeep laughs at the scene and then covers her mouth thinking better of it, "Dogs aren't allowed here, you know."

"He's my blind dog, I'm half-blind," I say.

"Right," she doesn't sound too convinced.

I lean over to her, "Just look into my eyes. See the different colors? Well, one of them is a fake, cause I-"

"I bet that works just about every time," she jerks her face back and looks at Ein once again and then just shakes her head.

"All right he can stay," she looks at me. "what's your name anyway?"

Hmm, "It's Spank."

I never give my real name to any bartenders, valets or butlers. In case you are wondering then yeah, I met a butler in my life. They started calling him the Fake-Teeth Jean after our humble meeting.

The bartender leans on the bar, supporting her head in one hand, playing with her hair in the other hand, "So are you under witness protection or did your parents have a bad sense of humor?"

"It's Spank Styler."

She laughs out loud. After she's finished laughing, she scans my face further. Namely the brace on my nose.

"Harsh day?" she asks genuinely.

"As harsh as any day when I'm sober, soberness is just a sickness they didn't find a cure for yet," I say. "And reality is an illusion caused by lack of alcohol."

"Is that why you are here?" just as the question leaves her mouth, I don't like it. It brushes the past sense too much.

"I'm here to drink of course, to drink until I won't make any kind of sense," I say. "In any sensible way."

The barkeep smiles, "You sound like you broke up with your girlfriend."

And I close my eyes and try to brush it off anyway, "I like bartenders with an intuitive sense of justice with that bit of a heartlessness on the top."

"Who was she?"

"I don't like where this is going," suddenly there's that dry feeling in my throat. The feeling you have when you want to throw up but can't.

"Did you love her?"

"Does it matter?"

"Come on, speak up I'll give you one shot on the house," the bartender picks up a glass and pours me a brandy.

I give the longest sigh I heaved in a while. Bad luck she's the only barkeep here. To drink, I'll have to answer.

"Were you ever in love?" I ask her.

She seems thinking about the question for a short while, "I guess it depends on what love is."

"Love is a moment of weakness that allows someone to hurt you more than you ever thought possible," I say. "Men were given the strength to be brutes to women, and women were given love to wreak their revenge."

"She must have been quite a gal," she says. "To leave you with such a high opinion of women."

"She was..." and I turn to the dog. "But now it's time to start drinking, right boy?"

Ein doesn't bark in agreement.

"Whatever you say," the bartender turns around and fishes some bottle and glass finally pouring me a drink

And so we get down to the truth.

The truth that Lady Luck is indeed a hooker and I'm fresh out of cash.

The bartender turns to tend to other customers, but I gesture for her to stop. I lift up the glass and gulp it down as if it was just a water.

Then it starts to burn and I start to cough, I cough and gulp and cough, a real coughing fit. Man, what did she give me?

After I'm done coughing I place the glass on the bar and acting cool say, "Smooth."

I push the glass toward her and she takes it.

"Not used to 'just broke up with my girlfriend' kind of clientele?" I say after she just stares at me holding the glass. "One more, please?"

"I guess I'll go look for that mop, better safe than sorry," she mumbles to herself as she pours me another one.

And then she leaves me for good.

So here I am, skewing down figures gulp after gulp in an aspiring attempt to quiet down the demons of my past. I can guess how I look now, like a shipwreck castaway that landed on Pluto instead of a Mars. Like a helpless fired salary-man with a bloodthirsty mortgage that wants to suck him dry and he doesn't know anything else than numbers. Like a stock broker they're scrubbing off the pavement. Like a cleaner who has to scrub off the stock broker and the salary-man's vomit off the street. Like Faye after she saw seventy-six years old videotaped record she herself recorded when she was a kid. Like Jet when you remind him that he's bald. Like Ein when we are all eating his food secretly.

I look bad, bad enough for a stranger to pity me. But you can't buy anything for pity, I just want to forget.

And so I gulp down another shot and the world finally gets dizzy enough for me to get a rest. Not dizzy enough though, I need to be in a state that I wouldn't be able to remember my very own name.

Oh, I almost forgot. Better take the smoke now, till I know which end to put in mouth.

I take out my pack and then the lighter. I light up. I inhale the puff of smoke.

And just sitting there, drinking, smoking, enjoying myself, somebody taps on my shoulder.

"Buzz off," I don't even turn around.

Now a push.

"Do you know to which hospital they'll take you, asshole?" I say, finally getting annoyed. "I'll sing your brace for ya."

Minding my own business I bring up another glass to my lips, now the motherfucker behind me pushes me again and I spill the drink all over myself.

Then Ein is kicked down to the floor and the stools on each side of me get occupied by two thugs. I look over my shoulder, one other gorilla is looming behind me in case I tried to run away. They all wear pretty expensive suits. And fairly familiar too.

"We don't want any trouble here," the bartender starts.

Then backs away seeing the odds of that line working.

The one on my right starts, "Where did you get that lighter?"

"You don't want to know," looking straight ahead, I ignore him gulping another shot I had to pour myself.

He reaches in his breast pocket and takes out something, throws it on the bar. It lands beside my lighter.

Just my luck, I try to drown the past and it turns out the past is a pissed off lifeguard.

There are two almost identical lighters on the bar, a dragon goes around on both of them in almost the same posture. Of course if I'm not counting the fact that his is golden.

"I know who you are," he flashes his teeth. "You're that man that almost ruined the syndicate."

"I knew I should have settled for the watches instead when they awarded us," I smile. "But no, I had to take the stupid lighter."

Nobody laughs.

"So what? We happen to have the same lighter, what of it? You should all just get out of here before I lose my temper," I empty my right hand and prepare for a quick-draw.

I'm just stalling anyway.

"That's a nice nose-brace you got there, do you know what might look better with it?" the gorilla behind my back says.

"What?"

"The bar!" And he grabs my head from behind and rams with it into the hard wood.

Something snaps and as I raise my head back up the nose-brace falls off, blood starts to flow out of my nose more than when Moses got angry. After this happens I reach for my gun fast and jump down the stool aiming at the thug behind me.

It's almost as if these three guys were all that I was when I still belonged to the syndicate.

I don't like people who lampshade me this much. It's just as my mother used to say, there's not a thing you hate more than something too similar to yourself. That way all of your mistakes are right there, in your face.

I grab my nose stopping the blood and pull the trigger.

And nothing happens.

Lady Luck must hate me now, for that lame pun I made about her.

In all that rush for some awesome sarcastic remark regarding Faye's new dress, I forgot to take ammo.

Being cornered by three guys that are reaching for their guns right about now, with no chance to blow their brains out is not exactly my idea of a pleasant Friday in a bar. Of course if today is Friday.

As I see them step back and reach into their holsters everything slows down. I run some fast equations in my head, the algebra of stupid decisions. I can either duck down behind the bar and pray for some miracle or I can just beat the crap out of them with my bare hands. Trust me I'd really want to slug them in the mouth using my awesome fighting techniques, but the alcohol is kicking in and I haven't practiced for months. With my moves too slow and laughable, there's only one choice left.

Sometimes a man's got to surrender his pride and... negotiate.

One guy has sawed-off shot gun, the other is holding magnum and the one that broke my nose has some modified type of a machinegun.

Ah, screw it, you can't live forever.

And I slug the nearest thug with my own gun and he falls back his machinegun riddling holes into the bar then the ceiling.

I try to do more, but the others step away from me, so I decide to dive behind the bar after all and pray for a miracle.

One of them laughs out loud, "You're not the one we're looking for are you, I haven't seen anyone as stupid as you in a while."

Let me let you in on a little known secret. You know how stupid the average person is? Well statistically half of them are even dumber than that. I don't try to hide the fact that I'm not the sharpest knife in the set, but even I have my moments.

"Are you gonna come out or do we have to destroy the whole bar?" the guy with the shotgun snickers then fires one shell into all the bottles above me.

I look at the bartender, she's covering herself in the far corner of the bar.

I kick into the wood and slowly start to raise up, with my hands above my head.

They start laughing now. Then one of them gestures at me with his head, "Search him, I want to know who's gonna get killed today."

One of the others jumps over the bar still aiming at me and starts going though my clothes, he takes out my phone, my keys and my pack of cigarettes, oh and that wallet I stole a little while ago.

So is this it? I thought I would go with more of a style.

One puny mistake and you're dead, ain't life funny sometimes.

"Hey, wait a minute!" the guy searching me opens the wallet.

The guy scans it again, then shouts, "He's a cop!"

A what?

"What are you babbling about, give it here," the other one takes a look inside. "Senior Detective Michael Heroine, well fuck me."

And then I get a shiver-fast scope of the wallet and in a far corner of my brain a sunspot flare of recognition, like glancing up at a passing cloud and thinking wow, that cloud looks exactly like a girl on a bicycle. Blink, and the flare is gone.

I fucking pick-pocketed a police officer. It wasn't wallet, it was badge. I mean... what are the chances?

"So you're not the one we're looking for after all," the guy says. "You see this changes our situation completely."

He holsters his gun and the others do the same.

"Sorry bout that nose man," the guy beside me pats my back.

"You should have told us before, we wouldn't jump to conclusions then," the thug shrugs.

I stare at him perhaps too blankly.

"You don't harm us and we don't harm you, remember the treaty?" the guy smiles, taking out a pack of cigarettes.

Police cooperates with syndicate. I guess I have an insight of why exactly Jet left the force. I put my hands down.

"Let's go guys, time to leave," the guy pulls a drag from his smoke and turns to me again. "If I learned anything in life it's that shit happens. No hard feelings about it, right?"

And they leave. I jump over the bar and sit down again. I look at Ein, he's shaken a little but otherwise okay.

Then the bartender approaches me, "What about the ceiling!? You didn't tell me you were a cop!? You just let them leave? Just like that!?"

"Too much information," I raise up a hand. "Zero interest."

Why would I want to dive into it further, I'm too drunk for this shit. Besides this isn't my fight, me standing up against them? I am not one of those big damn heroes.

I take out my pack of cigarettes and...

And...

Something is switched inside my head.

All right, now they've done it! Now it's my fight! That was my last fucking smoke! And nobody messes around with me and my smokes.

I take the things they took off me and pick up my gun.

And it's time to kill.

Outside they already crossed the street. I look at my gun, pocket it and go to the car I keyed before I entered the bar. No one is walking out of this alive. I take off my jacket. They want to represent my past, be my guest. These idiots. They want past, they'll get it. These fuckers. They want to kill, murder they shall have. These dickheads. I feel all my limbs burning up. I hold nothing back. The turning point. The Lake of Fire. And this is all that I live for.

I take my jacket and roll it around my arm.

And I break the driver's door glass. The window showers the leather covers inside. I unlock the door.

There's no stopping in this. No way out. I'm getting dizzy. I feel as if someone set me on fire. I don't care. Luckily the car had no alarm.

Inside I tear off the ignition and start connecting wires at random. The wipers go off and start sliding across the windshield. The key is not to panic. Then the indicators light on both sides. The trick is to never give up. And then the engine kicks on and I entangle the two good wires.

I open the driver's door again and put in a reverse. I tear off the door using the car behind me. Why? We'll see in a short while.

I fasten my seat-belt.

I shift the gear and kick down at the pedal.

Now they turn in my direction and draw their guns, then they start shooting at me.

I lean out of the non-existent door.

The bullets bounce in through the windshield and out the backside of the car. Some I can hear bouncing off the engine.

Whenever I'm mad, I'm indestructible, no one can stop me.

They wanted past, they'll get the past.

Then there's a flicking sound and one bullet goes through my right shoulder. The windshield shatters and falls all over me.

I pull myself right up and start to grin like an angry demon.

"That's a really nice suit you got there, you know what might look better with it?" I say to myself. "THE CAR!!!"

And then the pictures before my eyes start overlapping with my memories. When I first rode a bike. When a girl kissed me for the first time, in kindergarten. My first smoke. My first hangover. When they told me in the middle of my training that I wasn't learing kung-fu but Jeet Kun do something and I got pissed. The first time I used a gun. My first kill. Meeting Vicious. My second kill. And since then I just killed. Meeting Julia. Sleeping with Julia. Leaving Julia. Meeting Jet, the ex-cop. Finding the dog. Meeting Faye and the kid and since then it doesn't really matter what happened.

Expect for...

The pictures blinking before my eyes slow down like a silent film on a defective reel.

And then I hear the sound of a human body erupting, the ugly sound of a human body being torn apart by high-speed metal of the car. The pictures blink faster and faster and suddenly the filmstrip snaps and the car slams into the wall - total, terrible sound. The seat-belt digs into me and kicks breath out of my lungs.

For a while I just sit there, crushed by sound.

Then I realize that I'm alive, shaken, but alive.

Those guys on the other hand... Let's just say they were guys before, now they are just a few hundred pounds of fractured and crushed meat. One is probably wedged into the engine for some unscheduled service check. There's someone's hand on my lap. Half of the one that broke my nose landed on the passenger seat beside me. His face is, well full of shock. The dumber people think you are, the more surprised they are when you kill them.

"That's right, asshole," I unfasten my seat-belt. "Shit happens."

And I reach into his breast pocket and take out his pack of smokes, it's Marlboros. I take his golden lighter and light up. Then I brush the blood off my face with my sleeve, put my hands into my pockets and walk back into the bar.

If you think I'm such a heartless asshole to just walk away calmly from something like this, then no, you're wrong, I am not calm. I think about a whole lot of things concerning the death of those thugs.

For example I can't help but wonder why this idiot had a fresh pack of Marlboros and I couldn't. Had Carllota lied to me? I'm not surprised. Frankly, I'm more surprised by people telling me the truth than telling lies.

Lies flow like water, but the truth burns. Hmm, that's not a bad line. I'd better write that down...

In the bar I sit down and pour myself another drink like nothing happened. Then the bartender approaches me, "Came back to destroy it here more?"

I grin, but suppress the laughter, "A man's got to have a hobby."

"What happened out there anyway," she's probably looking at the blood all over me. "We heard a loud crash outside."

"They were running late to work so I called them a taxi," I down another drink to ease me off the pain in my shoulder and nose.

"Then why are you shot?"

I don't answer this question, not because I haven't prepared any funny come back, but because my words are already slurring and more over it's time to disappear. I mean not even the police is that useless to ignore something like this.

I look at the girl I know only as a bartender and decide it would be polite to pay. But I just have a police badge.

"Put on my tab, will ya?" I flip open the badge, then close it and stand up.

I take the dog and head out.

"Hey, Mike!" I almost don't turn around. "About that gal of yours... I think I can level with her, anyone who stays near you is either brain-dead or a total nutcase."

"Ha, ha, funny," and I leave the bar.

The way back to the ship is a blur, everyone stares at me though as if someone posted the kick me note right on my face. The dog barks and I realize that I almost missed the pier. I spin around on my own axis and go the right way.

Two questions are spinning inside my head.

What will I do without any money and where the hell are those white flakes coming from? No way. It's snow. Is it 24th? I can't be really sure. I shrug and go inside.

In the decompression chamber that serves as an entry I get in the funny mood again and shout, "Honey! I'm home!"

Nobody answers.

I shrug and make my way toward the couch.

I fall down and put my legs up on the table accidentally switching on TV.

I might as well just watch it, because if I went to sleep now I'll have a hell of a hangover tomorrow. The image is split into two and I have a hard time understanding all those long sentences, but after a minute or two I finally realize that they're midnight news or something. There's a really bored blonde lady in a suit, reading the news in dull voice, as if she was counting out loud. The first breaking news are concerning a pair of white rhinos at our local zoo, which they decided to relocate back to earth. Then there's something about a new law they threw together at the government, to which president replied with a veto out of sheer boredom and everyone went back to their newspapers instead of doing anything about it.

And then just as my eyes begin to close a very familiar picture floats up behind the announcer. It's a wrecked car.

"Today, around midnight police got a report about a car accident, supposedly a car crashed into one of the nearby houses and injured three people. The cause is still unknown, because the driver of said car managed to run away from the scene. When paramedics got to the place they enunciated all injured dead. A witness says they belonged to a syndicate. The witness also claims it was a work of a police officer Michael Heroine. He attempted to neutralize three members of a syndicate called The Red Dragons..."

Heh.

"Which brings us back three months ago when Senior Detective Michael Heroine went missing under mysterious circumstances..."

Huh?

He was missing? How did I manage to rob him then? Did I pick-pocketed a dead body looter? Nevermind, like I care anyhow.

Then they bring up his image and it's too blurry to see. I reach into my pocket and open the badge, looking for the picture. Well, shoot me in my head, if I got a little haircut it could as might as well be me. Suddenly there's an explosion of wild ideas inside my head of what I could do with the badge. And every idea is about only one thing – money.

I take another smoke and start grinning like an idiot. This day keeps getting better and better. I feel like a husband who won a lottery, came home and wife told him his mother-in-law died. When things go well, they just go well.

I go to bathroom to do something about the hole in my shoulder and my nose. I cover it in bandages, then throw water to my face. The nose is twisted to the left and there's a dried blood all over my face, but still I just can't wipe that smirk off.

After I twist my nose back into position, I decide it's time to sleep.

I raise up from the couch and almost crash into something. I back up a few steps and when my vision focuses, I see a tree. A decorated tree. Is it Christmas or something?

Oh, now that I think about it, yeah it is. I should really lay down the alcohol for a while...

Well, no time like the present. I open the couch and take out my presents for everyone. I managed to buy them when I was drunk and accidentally stumbled through some mall, I don't know which planet though.

I down the milk on the table and grab a hefty amount of cookies and venture towards my room.

I don't even take off my clothes and fall on my bed.

When I get comfortable it dawns on me that the blanket is either too short, or blocked by something.

"Are you trying to be funny again, Spike?" a woman's voice addresses me from the other side of the bed.

"Funny you should ask that, yeah, a really funny thing happened to me, Faye," I say.

"So you fell into my bed just to tell me an anecdote?" Faye says, still with her back to me. "Phe, that you stink of puke and smoke and alcohol I can understand, but why the hell do you stink of blood?"

"I met some of my former colleagues Faye," I say. "They missed a bus so I gave them a lift home."

"That's the reason?" she says.

"Yeah."

A pause.

"You don't have a car."

"Now I don't, but I had."

"You're drunk Spike, get out of here," we can hear she's getting quite irritated.

Like a wife who's faking a headache so she wouldn't have to sleep with her husband instead of her lover.

I reminisce for a short while, "There was this bartender Faye, a girl, for a while it really looked I scored, and then the sparkle was gone as quick as if you blew off a candle."

"With your hunger for women I really wonder how you ended up shacked with that chick of yours," Faye says her tone a little too serious.

"That's another funny story... My whole life is full of funny stories... Sometimes I wonder if my life is not just one big sick joke," I say. "Wanna hear about it?"

I really wonder why she didn't just kick out of her bed yet. I mean I'm soaked in alcohol and blood and hygiene has become a foreign word to me.

She sighs, "You're gonna tell me anyhow, aren't you?"

I stare up at the ceiling and without really trying to dig, the images from the past start popping up like jack in the box. Like spam when you went overboard with porn.

"I always liked women," I begin.

"A lot of men likes women Spike," Faye interrupts.

"Well, I like them more, a _lot_ more," I pause and Faye laughs, I am not amused. "I have a condition called a Compulsive Fantasy."

She doesn't say anything.

"I meet a woman, and immediately I see, in a very plastic way, everything that I could do with her," Faye laughs again, I continue. "I mean _very_ plastic way."

"You should go see a doctor then," Faye chuckles.

"I did," I say.

"What did he say?"

"That he has it too."

"What does this have to do with Julia?" Faye says and finally turns to me.

"Everything, you see women are able to perceive and comprehend what I imagine and it's like a bait for them," I say. "A bait they can't resist. I don't wanna boast but they're going after like there's no tomorrow."

"She didn't seem like the type," Faye comments.

"And that's the funny thing, usually women I meet go after only that one thing. But with Julia..." I look at Faye. "I met her when I stumbled half dead through some alley and then fell unconscious, so I never got to imagining. And then when I opened my eyes and she was there, treating me, I stopped seeing women like piece of meat, as only that one organ. And the fantasy was subdued, for a while."

"And?"

I sigh, "All went to hell, and it came back like if it was still there, packed inside the basement of my mind."

I don't have anything else to say and Faye doesn't speak so it gets silent.

Then, "So... what did you imagine when we first met?"

"You were handcuffed, sitting cross legged facing us with that smug expression of yours and it fell on me again. Suddenly, you weren't sitting there, but in the bathroom tied to the shower. And the shower was pouring hot water all over you. And then when I could see through your clothes, you said: _I'm getting wet_. And I replied: _That's the idea_. And then it snapped back and everything went normal again."

Faye puts one leg over me and says, "Well then... what do you see now?"

"Spike? Spike? Hey!"

Snore.

"Jerk."

I dream that I have my own office. Everything is black and white. I smoke and see an opened bottle of whiskey up on the table. There's a sing on my desk, Private Investigator Michael Heroine. I have my legs up on the table and there's my femme fatale also on the table. It's not Faye. It's not Julia. It's a goat that was fed with glass shards and barbed wire and is offering me a sexual intercourse or free vomit all over me. I struggle for a while, but then give in telling myself that not everyone can die of an old age.

I wake up and my head feels like if somebody danced cha-cha-cha right on my face while I was asleep.

I look around, not my room.

Where the hell am I?

Man, gotta reduce the drinking a little.

I stand up and scratch my back, then go to bathroom. I brush my teeth, throw some water at my face.

"Oh," it gets back in bright purple flash. "I barged up into Faye's room."

I shrug.

"Well, not like it's the first time and besides," I quickly turn around. "IT'S X-MAS!!!"

And I shoot out of the bathroom like a guided missile.

Faye is beside Jet, there's some really nice looking breakfast in front of them, they're unboxing their gifts without me. Ein and Ed opened theirs already and are running around with some kind of a model plane. Oh and Ein has those flashing reindeer horns, original. In his mouth he has a rubber bone, a gift from me.

I slow down so I wouldn't look like a fool, "Yo."

"Hey Spike," Jet nods at me and goes back to his present. "Who gave me this chrome polish, is it some kind of a joke, a pun about my hair?"

Maybe Jet, just maybe.

I go to the tree and pick up my gifts. One is obviously a bottle. The second one is smokes and the third one feels and weights like socks. I guess Santa watched my Facebook and got to know that I wasn't a good boy this year or something. I tear open the bottle one, unscrew it and take a swing.

"It's absinthe Spike," says Jet just as I spit it all out.

Faye's suppressing her laughter.

"Yeah... thanks for the warning," I say.

"Always a pleasure Spike."

Then Faye opens her unusually big present and her smile breaks, "Bets and Horseraces the table top version?"

I shrug, "Think of it as a nicotine chewing-gum."

And I grab piece of the breakfast and go for the fridge. I take out three magazines and insert one into my gun, then holster it and pocket the others.

"Where are you going Spike?" Faye says. "Haven't you had enough?"

"I'm running late for work honey," I say already going through the door. "Oh and call me Mike."

And I go to work.

Police has shifts even through the holidays, you know.


End file.
